


Immortal Blood

by TheCatThatWrites



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCatThatWrites/pseuds/TheCatThatWrites
Summary: Before there were humans, Children of the Forest and wights, there was the land. Immortal, unchanging. These are the stories of the personifications of the kingdoms and cities of Planetos.(Or how I applied the concept of Hetalia to ASOIAF)> DISCONTINUED <





	1. A Walk Through The Docks

To the ignorant eye, Dragonstone may have looked like a distant Targaryen; silvery hair and deep, purple eyes. He may not be as old as his neighbors claim to be, only ten and nine by human years, but he had seen as much suffering as the next kingdom. Yes, he was a kingdom. It didn't matter what Seven Kingdoms or his fellow neighbors said, Dragonstone was already an independent island way before the unification of the Seven Kingdoms. He would always remember that feeling of independence and the power that came with it.

Power that he wished he had right now.

The last of the Targaryens were now leaving Dragonstone for Braavos. How he wished he could go with them, but his selfishness was greater than any loyalty he beared for his little dragons. Not even Crownlands was here, choosing to side with the victors. The turncloak.

With a firm stance, Dragonstone approached the docks were preparations were being made to take the last Targaryens away. Chatter and orders filled the place, with people moving from one place to another. Who would have thought that Orys' descendant would be the one to end the dragons' dynasty? He already expected Stormlands' japes. Every jape Dragonstone made about the Storm Kings being brought down by his children would come back to bite him tenfold.

"Watch it!"

The feeling of bumping into someone brought him out of his dark thought. No, the dragons hadn't died yet. King Viserys and Princess Daenerys were still alive. They would grow strong in Braavos and return to bring justice to their house. He had a part to play too.

For the meantime, Dragonstone would have to find some way to dye his hair. He doubted the Usurper would be kind to any Targaryen look-alikes.


	2. Burning Heart

The fire that she had always loved was now ripping her apart. The earth was trembling below her and her blue sky disappeared from sight.

Valyria barely recalled a different time when she danced through green valleys. A time before Goldentail. A time where songs she didn't remember the words of anymore filled her ears.

Now, the screams of her people, roaring of dragons and the crumbling of buildings filled her ears. Valyria clutched Goldentail closer to her as she started to cough. She wished to crawl out of her burning skin and fly far away from there. Goldentail's roar seemed to approve. Every tear she shed was being vaporized right away.

How did it all come to this?

She was supposed to lead this world to greatness. That was what she had told Rhoyne before she... before...

She was once close to Rhoyne. Long, long ago. They used to sing silly songs together and she would take him to see every sheep she owned. She had one named Vi-Vi. Why did they laugh at the name? Valyria didn't remember.

Would Rhoyne punish her for his suffering once they saw each other again or...? No.

Valyria couldn't handle it anymore and screamed. Mayhaps her screams would be able to travel across the seas of time and reach her younger self. Reach her foolish and naive self and make her understand.

Understand what?

Valyria already knew that her end was near. She had started to feel terribly wrong moons ago. She knew the feeling of earthquakes and this was nothing like it. All her plans for the future... all her dreams waiting to be fulfilled...

She was sure her insides were melting and being teared apart all at once. Her head had never hurt so much. Valyria supposed this was the part where you prayed for your gods to save you, but that didn't feel right. What would they do anyways? Drop an ocean above the Fourteen Flames?

A weak but crazy laugh mixed with her tears. Valyria was sure she was the only one laughing in this mess. It didn't last long as the pain came back.

Her sight started to get blurry. The smoke hiding her sky was the only thing Valyria saw. Would she be able to survive if she took Goldentail and flew beyond the sky and smoke? Had an immortal tried that before? Valyria tried to move but the action only brought her a new wave of suffering. There was a time when she didn't feel pain, right?

Valyria recalled occasions when she took her daughters to flights atop Goldentail. Why did they stop doing that? Volantis loved them.

Volantis... her first daughter. Her precious daughter. Oh, Volantis...

Her eyes and mouth were filled with smoke. Valyria gasped for breath.

Her burning heart seemed to have finally melt. She had never felt this fire before. Ghis said she had a heart of stone. He was wrong. He was wrong...

She... no... wrong...

Goldentail... what...?


	3. What's In A Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we learn the origin of the human names some immortals use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have made a tumblr called planetos-personifications where I will be going in detail about each immortal and the concept itself, so I invite you to check it out.

There are many things to take into consideration when choosing a human name. For some immortals its just a cover to use whenever they need it, for others its a personal detail only to be shared by those closest to them. How have the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros chosen their human names?

Crownlands didn't have the luxury of choosing. Aegon the Conqueror was the one who gave him life, so Aegon was the one to choose "Aemion" as his name. A valyrian name fit for a valyrian ruler. In truth, Crownlands was proud of his name, styling himself as Aemion Waters now and then.  
The last time he used Waters as a last name was in 45 AC, when King Maegor chopped his head off. The fool.  
For a long time he continued to cling to the name of Aemion, feeling said name as his last bond to the only paternal figure he'd ever known.  
The last time he used Aemion instead of "Andren" was in 131 AC, right before he disappeared for a few years to travel across his lands. He was lucky that Driftmark was in no mood to search for him.

But Crownlands is still young compared to the rest, so it is to be expected for him to change his name in the near future.

On the other hand, Stormlands didn't have anyone waiting for him when he awoke. His first memories are of thunder and cold stones near a shore. For days Stormlands wandered the same shore, not knowing what to do or where to go. The only thing he was sure of was that he was the personification of the land he stood on. He looked towards the raging ocean.  
How lucky.  
On the fifth day, Stormlands started to cry. He was cold, hungry and scared. His little body started to tremble. What was he supposed to do?

"Hey, kid!"  
Stormlands turned to the voice. An old man was waving at him, with a concerned look on his face. The man approached him.  
"A kid like you shouldn't be out here alone. Where are yer parents? Do you have anywhere to go?", the man asked.  
Said man didn't seem hostile, but even so Stormlands limited himself to waving his head. The shame was filling his every being, accumulating in the form of tears in his eyes. The old man immediatly held both hands in surrender.  
"Woah, don't cry, kid! I just want to help. My name is Gunthor. What's yers?"  
Stormlands hugged himself and looked down to his dirty shoes. What was he supposed to say? Panic started to grow inside him.  
Gunthor the old man sighed, "Ya don't have to tell me if ya don't want to. I just-"  
"It's the same!"  
The man looked at him confused, "Huh?".

Stormlands hadn't meant to say that, but now it was too late to back down, so he gathered all his strenght and looked at the old man straight in the eye.  
"Gunthor. I have the same name as you".  
The man chuckled and said, "Well, little Gunthor, I have a cottage not far from here. If ya want to-"  
"I would love to. Thank you!", said Stormlands as he gave a little jump. Gunthor the old man started to laugh louder.  
"Yer an eager one, I'll give ya that.", he extended his hand to Stormlands, "Let's get going then".  
As he held his hand, Stormlands vowed to never forget him.

Similar was the case of Riverlands. For his first decades he changed names like they were River Kings. One day he was purchasing in the market as Roland and the next he was rowing down a river as Lucas. Riverlands knew that most immortals kept only one name, but none of them seemed... right.  
It wasn't like it was his top priority anyways, with civil wars left and right. 

It was during one of those campaigns that Riverlands met Benjicot Rivers, the bastard of a petty king. They found themselves sharing tents, food and aid between themselves through the whole ordeal. It was during a sleepless night before a battle that the conversation came up.  
"Say, Tytos," for that was the name he used at the time, "What do you plan to do after the war?"  
Riverlands pushed a strand of brown hair from his forehead and smiled. Benjicot always asked the deep questions.  
"I don't know", he answered, "I guess I will just search for another job. What do you want to do?"  
Riverlands heard the rustle of the blanket and turned to find Benjicot looking at him straight in the eye.  
"Anything to leave a legacy behind me".

Huh, that wasn't the answer he was expecting. But then again, Benjicot always managed to surprise him. He couldn't help but smile, "Oh?"  
Benjicot sat up and Riverlands followed. It was one of those talks, then. Benjicot sighed, "I know bastards don't always stand out in life. There are the lucky ones and then the ones who fade into obscurity forever. I just...", he shaked his head and looked straight ahead.  
For the first time in his life, Riverlands felt like a human knew more than him. 

Unfortunately for Benjicot, he didn't survive the battle. Riverlands himself helped with the funerary rites. This was a high honor by itself, but he desired to do more than that.  
The next day, the eccentric fisherman Benjicot made his first appearance.

Immortals don't always know the person they named themselves after. Such was the case of Iron Islands. Some may say he is impressionable, but they should have seen him in the old days. Iron Islands was always following whoever made the greatest feat with the sword or whoever made the best manouver with their ship.  
It was by this way that the legend of the Captain Qhored came to his ears. Iron Islands knew it was a matter of time before this ironborn became High King, and High King he became.

Conquering the Riverlands, claiming infinute coasts and islands, reaving and pillaging. That was life.  
It only seemed natural that the best King of the Iron Islands would have the honor of sharing his name with the Iron Islands himself. To this day, Qhored wears his name with pride, as if it were a luck charm. 

There were even some who didn't have any attachment to their name whatsoever.  
Westerlands knew how important names could be. They were a symbol of your past and current status. They were the first impression someone got of you, after your appearance, of course. And so, Westerlands was determined to pick the perfect one.  
In the past he had been conformed with just saying the first name that came to his mind, but Westerlands wanted a definitive one to make his own.

He travelled across his lands asking many people of their names, no doubt getting a few weird stares out of it all. Then he found it.  
Lucion was a powerful name. Elegant yet firm. A name fit for a lord or a king. Perfect for him. Shame it had been wasted on a baker. Well, at least the pastries were delicious.

The Reach put even less thought into her name. She was even younger than Stormlands when she chose hers.  
At only two days old, Reach was already fascinated by the beauty that sorrounded her. And so, she wanted a pretty name so the people she spoke to wouldn't get confused with their homeland and the little girl herself.

Ellyn was a pretty name, and the Reach was pretty. On top of that, Ellyn Ever-Sweet had cooed and ruffled her curls when she told her. 

Vale wasn't much better.  
For a time she hadn't even bothered to pick up a name, content with being known as "that girl" or "the weird child". As time went on, Vale realized that not having a name greatly hindered her interactions with other people. How was she supposed to connect with her children if she couldn't even hold a conversation with them?

Vale spent two days collecting all the names she could before heading to her favorite lake, holding a piece of parchment where she had written the names. There, she stared at her reflection and recited the first name.  
"Aemma".  
She repeated the name without looking at the parchment this time.  
"Aemma".  
Something told her this one wasn't the one. Vale looked at her list again and read the next one.  
"Alyssa".  
And again, without the parchment in hand.  
"Alyssa".  
The little girl shaked her head and looked at her list again. The process repeated itself quite a few times.

"Why are you reciting names?"  
Vale quickly looked behind her, only to find a blonde girl walking towards her. The girl seemed only a bit taller than Vale herself.  
"Well?", the girl insisted.  
Vale tried to hide her face behind her light brown locks and clutched the list to her chest. Maybe if she ignored her the girl would go away.  
"Fine. Don't tell me then." It worked?  
She heard the girl start to walk away before coming to a halt. It was then that Vale looked behind her once more.  
"By the way" said the girl, "Out of those names you said, I liked Rowena the most".

After the girl went away, Vale looked at the lake once more.  
"Rowena".

Meanwhile, North held her name to a more personal level.  
North sometimes thinks that she would have experienced her first death within her first minutes of life if Brandon Stark hadn't found her in the snow.  
Bran, or Brandon the Builder as he would be later known, took her into his own home and gave her his own food. North might have been born only minutes ago, but she knew how vital food was in the North. To give a stranger the thing that could save you from starvation... that meant a lot.

In the end, North came to stay. Bran didn't take much convincing when it came to telling him of her nature, even offering her a seat of power in his new court, which she declined. Closed spaces were not her thing.  
The moment Bran got married, North knew she couldn't stay much longer. She already had extended Bran's lifetime by constantly being in his presence, and she didn't want to interfere in his personal life. It just wasn't meant to be.  
The night before she left, Bran asked North for a favor, which she quickly agreed to.

"Help my family and people to survive".  
Silly Bran. As if she wouldn't have done it herself. North even told Bran that she would take his name with her.  
But Brandon was no woman's name... Branda would have to do.

"And Dorne?", you may ask, "What about her?".  
Well, Dorne's tale is one that she would like to tell for herself.


	4. The Dornishwoman's Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have decided to update this story each Monday, so there's that. XD

They say the burning sun of Dorne is what causes the people to be hot blooded, and Dorne herself agrees. However, there are many interpretations to "hot blood". You could be talking about someone with a short temper, always ready to fight. You could be talking about someone passionate about a certain subject, with a wide fan of emotions.  
Or you could be talking about someone ready to jump at a lover's embrace.

Dorne remembers the times before the First Dornish War as a fever dream, jumping from place to place. First she resided in the Sandship, now mostly taken away by the sands of time. After that it was a small settlement outside Sunspear for her, and the good days of fighting along grandfather Rhoyne. After his final death, Dorne moved to the Old Castle, sharing blood oranges with the Princes and Princesses of Dorne. In a way she always appreciated that they used this title, allowing herself to think as the ultimate Queen of Dorne.   
It was during her residence there in 10 BC that Dorne met her then-handmaiden, Cassella, a woman of twenty three.

Having served in Sunspear for five years before her promotion, Cassella already knew who she was talking to. In their first meeting the woman got down to her knees, her black hair sprawling across the floor when she lowered her head, and proclaimed what an honor was to be in her presence.  
Dorne simply gave a small chuckle and offered her hand to Cassella, who took it with disbelief, "There is no need for that." said the immortal, "We are supposed to be friends, and friends don't kneel to each other".  
And thus began the strange friendship of the Principality of Dorne and Cassella the Handmaid.

As time passed, it became obvious to Cassella that Dorne was a strange woman. Putting aside her immortality ("I don't have immortality, but rather longevity"), that is. She was as old as House Martell, but looked not a day over thirty. Anyone who looked at her would see a mature woman with beautiful dark hair and skin, with brilliant amber eyes to set her apart. Even so, the immortal had the most strange of habits.  
On one occasion the pair was riding their sand steeds towards Yronwood when Cassella's curiosity got the best of her.  
"Dorne," she asked, "I know this question is out of place, but do you ever bleed?"  
Dorne stopped her horse, and Cassella followed suit, gripping her reins tight. The silence that followed made Cassella immediatly regret her question, but before she coule apologize, Dorne made her characteristic half-smirk.  
"Want a demostration?" she asked.  
This made Cassella do a double take, black eyes opening wide. In the snap of a finger Dorne had taken out a silver dagger and gotten down from her horse.

"Oh, there is no need-" started to say Cassella, but Dorne had already drawn blood. As Cassella walked closer to her, she noticed that something had fallen to the sand.   
Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was a bloody finger.  
Cassella looked back to Dorne, but the woman looked as calm as ever, with laughter in her eyes. True, her hand was missing a finger but she showed to fear, so Cassella calmed hers down. Dorne proceeded to pick up the finger and place it in Cassella's tense hand.  
"Does this answer your question?"  
The handmaid realized Dorne wasn't missing any fingers anymore, with the only proof of what happened being the severed one in her hand and the bloody dagger. Wonder washed away all of her fear, making her smile as well.  
"Will this finger rot?" Cassella asked while holding it up.  
Dorne laughed.

On another occasion, Cassella accompained her principality to an audience with Princess Meria. Apparently the Targaryens of Dragonstone had taken it to themselves to conquer the kingdoms of Westeros, using their dragons to burn any opponent in their way. Of course, Dorne wouldn't go down in the face of flying lizards. Unbowed.  
However, days passed and the news of the fall of the other kingdoms arrived. One after the other. Burnt castles and smoking villages. Their army growing in numbers as the dragonlords took crowns away. As their moment to confront them grew near, Cassella noticed Dorne overworking herself to make sure Princess Meria's plan was perfectly carried out. The dragons would not find them, much less conquer them. 

As Dorne and her prepared for the night, Cassella couldn't help but feel worried for her. What if the dragons burned their land? Would Dorne survive or melt with them? Of course the immortal could handle herself in battle, but what about dragonfire? After all, that was how Dorne told her that Rhoyne died.  
It was with these thoughts in mind that Cassella approached Dorne and hugged her from behind, making her stop the process of combing her hair. Dorne put her ivory comb down and turned around holding Cassella's cheek with one hand.  
Dorne was warm to the touch, and Cassella felt drawn to her. The melting gold in Dorne's eyes was a spectacle to be seen, especially now that they were accompained with a warm smile. Her eyes held a question that Cassella had been expecting for some time now. With a nod of her head, their lips met.

In the third year after Aegon's so-called conquest, Dorne and Cassella left the Old Castle for a home of their own in the shadow city of Sunspear. Those days of pure bliss were spent racing with their horses, sharing stories, visiting the royal family and, after little resistance, Dorne started teaching Cassella how to wield a sword. Of course, nothing good lasts for long. Especially when it comes to dragons. Cassella knew they had returned the moment Dorne confessed to her that she needed to return to Sunspear.  
As much as Dorne wanted Cassella to stay safe inside their home, she knew that if left alone she would sneak out to confront Aegon himself. Cassella knew this as well, so she waited for the time when Dorne told her of their plan to drive the invaders away.   
It was then that Dorne left for Sunspear while Cassella joined the small army in the shadow city, soon joined by the Princess Meria Martell.

Only a year later, Cassella was sitting with the princess inside the retaken Sunspear while waiting for Dorne to come back from the Boneway.  
"Would you stop your constant fretting?" asked the princess.  
Cassella froze and looked at the blind woman, "With no offense, my princess, but how did you know?" she asked. The moment the words came out of her mouth she wanted to hit herself on the head. She had gotten too comfortable with the openness of Dorne's relationship, not everyone would answer in kind to her constant nagging.  
Fortunately for her, the princess merely laughed, "I may not see, but I can hear just as well." Cassella was about to reply when Princess Meria spoke again, "I understand your worry, after all, you know not if your lover will ever return from war. The best you can do is hope, but even that is flimsy."   
Cassella rubbed her hands together, and looking at the princess, she asked, "And what am I supposed to do?"  
Princess Meria smiled at her for the first time, "Do hope for the best, but never forget to prepare for the worst."

In the end, Cassella never had to face the worst for Dorne had come back just as well as she left. If only, the Targaryens would be coming back once more.   
The following years were spent fighting the invaders. The Targaryens may have been powerful, but the Dornish were stubborn, and cunning as well. Side by side, Dorne and Cassella faced the foreign armies. Their blood was always running hot, both from fighting in the day and embracing each other in the night.   
It was in 9 AC that Cassella would fall to the enemy. 

Another day, another burning keep. This time, however, Cassella was inside the castle when the dragon came to burn it down. The moment Dorne realized she was inside, she rushed to help her, but the keep fell down.   
Being another face in the multitude, no one noticed when Dorne fell to her knees in front of the burning remains of the castle, barely feeling the sand inside her armour. At the sound of the dragon flapping away, Dorne noticed Rhaenys Targaryen on top of the beast. The bitch was smirking as she disappeared in the horizon.  
Her sorrow turned into rage. She could mourn later, right now there were matters to be set. Dorne stood up, and thought to herself, 'Cassella... I will keep you close to my heart. Lend me your strenght through your name to take down your killer.'  
Cassella Sand looked back to where the bitch had flown. It was time to fight fire with fire.


	5. A Capital

Even though he isn't a capital, White Harbor knows why so many immortals desire it.   
As the most important port in the North and the biggest city in the region there were times where White got a taste of that power. Even now, as he supervised the mercantile ships leaving his harbor, White felt on top of the world.  
However, this was enough for him.

Unlike most of the northern immortals, White Harbor was never his own kingdom, coming to be decades after North came to power from refugees of Dunstonbury; so it could be said that he didn't know 'true' power.   
White Harbor was no fool. He had seen what this desire for power had affected the southern immortals. In fact, one didn't have to search far. Dreadfort was a good example here in the North.

Why be bitter at the world when you could enjoy the little things of life?

Even if White Harbor wanted to be the capital, he knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he claimed the title.  
It wouldn't be fair to take something from a person that practically raised him.

"Copper for your thoughts?"

North was staring at him as she accomodated the last crates on the cart. She had personally offered to help him as she always did around the busy summers. 'It wouldn't help to the North as a whole if you passed out of exhaustion,' she always said.  
'But what about you?' he wanted to ask.

Branda shook him by the shoulder.   
"Hey! Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked with a smirk. She only raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.  
White Harbor waited for the question hidden in her eyes. He had learned long ago that it was futile to hide things from North. Not that he was going to try anyways.

"Mathis..."

Oh, so they were getting personal, then. White had always thought himself lucky for the fact that Winterfell wasn't like so many other capitals that used their power for the most minor of things, ordering their protegees around. There was always that sense of freedom that united the northern immortals.

That didn't stop White Harbor from taking a step back when North got closer. It took all of his self-control to not react when North raised her hands to his neck.   
"Your coat is... wrong."   
As she said this Branda adjusted his coat so his collar was tucked in.   
"We can't have the door of the North to the world looking nothing less of presentable, can we?"

Mathis couldn't stop the chuckle that came put of his mouth.  
Yes, why aim for capital when they had the perfect one already on the job?


End file.
